Brushfire Plague: Reckoning

by R. P. Ruggiero

  Cooper took the cigarette into his mouth and leaned in so that Freddie could light it with his Zippo. He inhaled deeply. He hadn’t smoked in a long time and coughed loudly. Freddie smiled at him.

  “Been a while?”

  “Not since basic training. I tried it then but it never took.” Cooper’s cigarette glowed again as he pulled in another drag. The rush from the nicotine was already hitting him. I need every advantage today.

  Freddie saw the pleasant look on his face, “You feeling it?”

  Cooper nodded, “I figure it will make me a bit more alert. I need anything that will help today.”

  The two men puffed away without saying another word. By the time he had finished his, Cooper’s head was buzzing. He felt more awake than he had. As his heel crushed the butt on the roadway, the final pickup came whining over the hill and eased into a spot behind the last vehicle.

  “Right on cue,” Freddie mused.

  “Thanks,” Cooper said as he strode toward Dranko’s Jeep, where the map was spread out. This was where they would do the mission briefing. As he walked down the line, he called out to those around him to gather round. The word quickly spread down to the farthest vehicle at the head of their queue. Men quickly finished cigarettes, adjusted their gear, were woken up by their friends, and assembled around him after a few minutes’ delay.

  Dranko had taped the map up onto the Jeep’s driver-side door and everyone crowded around it. Cooper motioned the front rank to kneel or crouch so that the second rank could see it clearly. The groups clustered by those that they knew best. The Asian gang members were off to Cooper’s left, in the second row. Miles’ group, which included seven men and a woman, were to his right, evenly split between the two rows. His friends did the same, filling up the space directly in front of him.

  He reviewed the plan once again and liked that it was simple. He knew no plan survived the point of first contact with the enemy. So, he reasoned, a simple plan was even more needed with a group of largely untrained people. He was hoping that Hodges’ men were also inexperienced. If they weren’t, it would likely be a bloodbath in the wrong direction.

  He was having Huynh’s men perform the flanking move around the left and to attack from the rear. He remembered reading somewhere, possibly in Sun Tzu’s Art of War, that men fighting for money should be used in a way that minimized their casualties. Mercenaries usually didn’t fight as hard as men fighting for kith and kin or their homes. Angela and two men from Miles’ group would form the sniper group. Angela was placed in charge of that group. The rest were divided into two fire teams that would attack from the front. Cooper would lead one made up of Dranko, Calvin, Buck, and Freddie. Miles would lead the other, composed of the people that had come with him. Cooper’s group would be front and center, while Miles’ would be to their immediate right. Cooper took a few questions before concluding the briefing. He saved the most important for last.

  He gave a quick description of Julianne and asked them all to be alert for her. Then, he paused for affect and pulled something out from his chest pocket. He held up Jake’s picture and let silence take hold.

  “This is my son Jake. This is who we are after.” Cooper paused again and handed the picture to the person nearest him, Freddie. “Please take a good look and then pass it along. I’ve already lost his mother and I can’t lose him. Jake is eleven years old. Before all this, he was just a normal boy. Probably like your son, if you have one about his age. He liked to ride his bike, read, and play video games.” Cooper wanted to personalize his son in timid hope that it would encourage those around him to fight harder to bring him home safely. His emotions came through clearly in his voice. He stopped again, collecting himself, before continuing.

  Now his voice was strong, deliberate. “For those of us who live here. We have to win. We need to show Hodges that our families are off limits. All power must have a boundary. If we don’t draw the line here, where will it ever be drawn? Can he come for our children? Our wives? Our daughters?” Cooper let the words fall and hang in the air. He wanted Miles’ men to know that they were fighting as much for their own families as they were for Jake. He looked into their eyes and saw the intensity that he had hoped for.

  “Any questions?”

  Jason spoke from the back of the group, “What is our jump off time?”

  Cooper looked at his watch, “Eleven. That should give you enough time to loop around the back of their position.”

  Jason nodded. He gathered his men in a short huddle and they set out first.

  “We move out in ten,” Cooper called to those that remained. He could feel the tension and nerves hanging in the air. He couldn’t tell if it was real or he was imagining the sharp tang of nervous sweat bleeding into the scent of pine. There was no denying the acrid smell from those clustered in a small group that were nervously puffing on cigarettes like steam locomotives. Cooper used the time to double-check his equipment and weapons.

  Dranko sidled up next to him. He leaned in and pulled the flap from one of his pockets back so Cooper could look inside.

  “I got one left,” he said, as Cooper saw a fragmentation grenade cradled in the pocket.

  Cooper smiled, “I’d forgotten about that. You’ll know when to use it.”

  Dranko frowned, “I hope so.”

  He chambered a round into his pistol and then did the same for his rifle. He found the sounds reassuring.

  “Lock and load,” he called out to the group and then waited as the sharp sounds of metal hitting metal resonated as each worked their bolts. He didn’t want anyone doing this when they were in position and have the sound give them away.

  “Now, safeties off.” Again, he waited as they complied.

  “Alright. Now, your safety is your finger. Keep it out of the trigger guard until you are ready to shoot. These guns won’t go off by themselves. Don’t get nervous and put your finger in until it’s go time. If you see someone getting lazy or stupid, nudge them. An accidental discharge might kill your friend and it definitely will blow our surprise. Got it?” Cooper delivered the lecture because he knew he was dealing with inexperienced people who needed to be walked through it, point by point.

  Anxious heads nodded around him. He saw how they deliberately pressed their trigger fingers against the outside of their trigger guards. Some did it so hard that their fingers turned white. Nervous tongues licked dry lips, hands tightly gripped their weapons, and color drained from their faces as the adrenaline was dumping into everyone’s bloodstreams. This is it. Cooper decided on one last piece of advice.

  “Now, everyone take a long, deep breath. Remember to breathe!” He saw chests rise and fall as they did so. I have to hope they hold together and no one panics before the bullets start flying.

  He recalled something else he’d heard once. He couldn’t remember if it was from his father or his drill instructor. When the bullets start flying, men do not fight for country or for any cause. They fight because they don’t want to let their buddies down.

  Cooper called out, “Remember, we have to count on one another. If we do, we will get through this.” He made sure he made eye contact with each of them, to drive the message home. “Alright, let’s move out.”

  “Right, Sarge!” Freddie called out with a mocked up tone of bravado. Most everyone laughed. Cooper guessed it was more to release nervous energy than the humor.

  As they walked down the road, they separated into the three groups. Angela and the other two sharpshooters were in front, Cooper and his team in the middle, and finally Miles’ group. There was some small talk as they first set out, but it quickly disappeared after a few minutes. The only sound from the group was the rustle of clothing as they walked and the occasional clang as metal touched metal. Whenever that happened, the person repositioned the offending object so that it wouldn’t happen again or became more careful in how they carried their weapon. Cooper was impressed when he saw them doing this without being told. Self-preservation is a powerful motivator
.

  They had button hooked across the road and were making their slow advance through the trees and underbrush to get into position near the cabin where Jake was being held. Their progress was painstakingly slow. Movement was limited to crawling and the occasional crouched jog. Cooper kept a steady eye on his watch as the minutes ticked by. We’re gonna make it.

  He and his team reached their position at 10:50. Miles’ group had safely taken cover a few minutes before. Meanwhile, Angela’s group was still working their way down the opposite side of the road and hopefully would cross and get into position in time.

  Cooper lay on his back and did his best to follow his own advice and keep breathing deeply. He had exchanged a few breaths when he heard something that made his stomach leap into his throat.

  The high whine of a truck’s motor roaring closer.

  Chapter Fourteen

  Every muscle in Cooper’s body tensed. All his senses immediately heightened. The green foliage around him became a deep emerald forest of trees, ferns, and brush. The scent of pine turned to an invigorating rush. His clothing turned to a raspy mess against his skin. The engine’s whine was a roar assaulting his eardrums and he could hear the nervous breath of those around him.

  A pickup truck crested the hill to his left. It was moving so fast he half-expected its wheels to leap from the pavement as it did so. His vision sharpened. He saw a white haired man behind the wheel. He thanked God that its bed was not full of armed men. His mind raced furiously, recalculating their plan and trying to assess the best path forward. He clamped the fear that rose in his belly as frantic thoughts of Jake and doubt about the rescue plan cascaded up from deep within.

  The truck sped across the asphalt and his field of vision. Break lights flared red; tires screeched and white smoke leapt from the tires as it reached the driveway that led to the cabin. The pickup careened as it made the turn and the body leaned precariously to the side; a threatened rollover that was narrowly averted. Cooper’s brain told him to drop his focus and to scan the area. A man was running towards a sandbagged position set up to guard the entrance. A makeshift gate made up of a felled tree on a metal swivel blocked the vehicle’s path. Two other men were moving into flanking positions on either side of the truck.

  It skidded to stop just inches from the tree-made barricade. A cloud of dust flew past the truck as it stopped. The nearest guard waved his arm about him and sputtered with a coughing fit. Cooper’s line of attackers looked toward him expectantly as a group. His gut screamed at him to hold and he held up one finger signaling them to wait. Still, he cursed himself for his indecision. Act for Christ’s sake, his mind assailed him.

  He spurred his gaze back to the pickup. The guard had recovered and was holding his rifle at the ready, pointing it at the driver. He was dressed from head to toe in hunting camouflage, but the rifle was of a military-pattern that Cooper did not recognize. A long, slender magazine butted out from underneath.

  “Help me!” The voice screeching from inside the cab was a woman’s. “Someone’s chasing me!” The shrill cry of distress pierced the forest floor.

  Cooper blinked, did a double take, and looked again at the driver. She was yelling, tossing her head back and forth in clear panic. As her face turned in Cooper’s direction, it hit him.

  It was Lily Stott! His mind reeled to process the information. What the hell?

  The guard was taken aback by the elderly woman’s plea for aid. The muzzle of his rifle dipped a few inches. Cooper could make out the curious frown that alighted on the man’s face. He took a few cautious steps toward the pickup’s cab.

  “Help me, please!” Lily’s voice fell from the loud scream to a plaintive cry. “I’ve been shot! I’m going to die!” The last word fell away into the air. Her hands left the steering wheel and fell toward her body. Cooper presumed to staunch the bleeding. Who shot her? His mind struggled to catch up to the swift moving drama unfolding before him.

  Her last cry catapulted the guard into action. He ran the last few steps to the driver’s side of the truck in response to her desperate plea. His look of confusion had transformed to one of deep concern for the injured old woman. As he drew alongside the vehicle, his eyes went wide in surprise.

  BOOM! Cooper’s body jerked in surprise. A cloud of smoke erupted from inside the cab. Crimson spray spouted out from the guard. His rifle dropped from his hands, which jumped towards his throat. The guard fell backward, stumbling. Lily shot him, Cooper’s mind registered. The door of the pickup swung open and a glint from a revolver hit his eyes as Lily brought it to bear on the other guard, positioned about fifteen yards to her left.

  “Now!” Cooper bawled at the top of his lungs.

  **********

  He went to a kneeling position and drew a bead on the guard to the right of the truck. The man was turning toward the truck in a confused, jumbled reaction. Doing so exposed his profile to Cooper for an easy shot at fifty yards.

  Cooper squeezed the trigger, the adrenaline coursing through his veins. His rifle thundered, the deep-throated roar of the .308 cartridge exploding. Flame and smoke bellowed from its muzzle. His shot went wide. He had rushed the shot. Damn!

  To his right, another rifle fired. This one missed, too. The man was pivoting toward the newly found threat. He fired wildly as his rifle turned. Fire spewed from the muzzle of his AR-styled rifle with each haphazard shot.

  Cooper drew a quick breath, steadied his rifle, aimed, held his breath when it was half released, and deliberately squeezed the trigger. A puff of white down burst outward from the guard’s chest. A blank look of shock gripped the man’s face for a moment. In that split second, every detail of his face etched its way forever into Cooper’s mind. Piercing green eyes. Crow’s feet running outward from those eyes. Thin lips, chapped white in chaotic lines. Flared nostrils. A short, jagged, scar on his left cheek. Hazelnut hair tufted out from underneath a green stocking cap. His eyes looked right at Cooper. A distant, sorrowful, dying look as the light ebbed out of them even before he was dead. Then, he slowly collapsed onto his side. He knew he would see this nameless man’s face in countless dreams in the nights to come. Despite the claims from Hollywood, killing another person always exacted a price.

  He rotated to his left to check on Lily. She had dispatched the guard to her left. He lay sprawled over a set of logs that had formed his defensive position. He was face down, but still moving from side to side. It looked like he was trying to regain his feet, but weak arms pushing against the logs failed to succeed. Blood oozed from his mouth and dripped onto the forest’s carpet.

  He lost sight of Lily as she withdrew from the driver’s side door. He saw a glimpse of white hair above the bed, halfway to the truck’s rear. A cascade of shots rang out and the truck paid a heavy price. Glass shattered as bullets peppered the cab. He heard the sharp, metallic puckering sound that shells will make when piercing metal. Lily emerged once again, taking up a prone position behind the pickup truck. That crafty, smart woman.

  Cooper turned back to the front of their position. To his left, Dranko had already moved up about ten yards, taking cover behind a fallen tree, ferns growing upward from its body. Muzzle flashes flared from two of the cabin windows and from several positions scattered on either side of it. That sound was then dwarfed by another that made Cooper’s skin crawl.

  The shrieking buzz saw racket made by the machinegun came to life. It was set up about thirty yards in front of the cabin, in a carefully arranged sandbagged position. Flames that looked to be ten feet long leapt from its muzzle. Cooper was surprised that he could hear the sharp tinkle as spent shell casings ejected out and clattered against the metal tripod or ammunition boxes below the sandbag line. The machinegun spat destruction at the pickup truck. It seemed to visibly wither and shrink under its fire as its heavy-caliber bullets struck home. True enough, the cab collapsed on its right side as the pillars supporting it were torn off or destroyed by the machinegun. Two men manned the machinegun, one firing and the ot
her feeding the belted ammunition. It had a voracious appetite as countless rounds sped through its jaws. They wore the visage of the confident look of men feeling invulnerable behind such a fearsome weapon. Cooper imagined, more than saw, malevolent smiles creasing their camouflage stained faces. He involuntarily cringed when he saw them both wearing helmets and body armor.

  His morale sagged for a moment as the heavy odds against them hit him square in the belly. His heart cried out against his fear-gripped gut. He summoned courage by willing himself to remember the feeling of his son’s embrace and then screamed a guttural battle cry that sounded like that of a rabid animal. His brain came back into the fray and he knew they had precious seconds before the machinegun crew turned their attention towards them.

  He disregarded caution and scrambled across the distance to where Dranko lay, fully exposing himself, trading speed for safety. A sole bullet whizzed past him, splitting the air as it did so.

  He thudded heavily onto the ground next to Dranko, his ribs crying out in pain as he landed.

  “We gotta get that machinegun now, give me the grenade!” He yelled into his friend’s ear.

  Time slowed to a crawl. Dranko’s face turned towards his. Confusion turned to resolve as he processed Cooper’s words. Their eyes held each for what seemed like an eternity. Cooper saw something deep shift in Dranko’s eyes. He shook his head almost imperceptibly. When he saw the fatal, resigned look mixed with the depth of a friend’s love in his eyes, his own cried out No before his brain could force the word out of his mouth. Dranko’s rifle fell from his hands as his right shot into his pocket, pulling out the grenade. His feet churned as he clambered to his feet and then Dranko was gone, racing pell-mell towards the machinegun.

  Cooper’s mind whirred as he stifled a myriad of emotions that were rushing through him at what was unfolding. He scrambled to his knees, bringing his rifle to a firing position to offer what aid he could to his friend.